


Gifts for any season

by drcalvin



Category: Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Shopping, Feuding, Gen, Gifts, Promptfic, Vendetta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tybalt doesn't like to shop for Christmas gifts for his family. Luckily, this year an unwary Montague is in position to assist - whether he wants to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts for any season

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from Janeeyreofmanderley

The servants were cleaning the Capulet mansion from top to bottom. The third time Tybalt was politely prodded from the spot he had hid away in, he chose to escape the estate entirely. He had wanted some peace and quiet to solve his dilemma, to which matrons armed with brooms and dust-shawls were not conductive. Four of the younger retainers, looking equally harried, chose to join him.

Tybalt had first planned to go alone, but he relented when he realized me might wish for help to carry… whatever he found. If he managed to find anything at all. He held no great fondness for the holidays in their first place: too many candles flickering in the windows, sweetened wine and tedious parties, sermons even more cloying and deceitful than usual… No, rather give him feasts such as bonfire night, when smoke and flame hid all manner of sins. Or the autumn revels, where nobody cared if he slipped away with a scullery maid before the sun had set. 

But now it was Christmas and gifts were to be exchanged. While old Capulet provided him with all he needed for his personal use, Tybalt had little free coin. He had even less inspiration for what to gift the family with. His servants would receive what they received every year: wine, and plenty of it, delivered directly through the steward. His father was, for once, also not a headache. Tybalt would deliver him a sword, won at cards from one of the older (and usually wiser) Montagues, who had surely faced a great deal of embarrassment about its loss. 

His aunt… He had in previous years given her a shawl, a comb, a horribly expensive bottle of perfume. None of these things had measured up to what she had received from the other men in the family. While she was always most gracious about thanking him, he squirmed at the thought of arriving with the paltriest gift once again.

And Julia… Julia was _impossible_ since she had outgrown dolls. He would not worry about Julia until he had finished his other duties, or he might find himself entirely crippled with indecision.

"It is a fine book of poetry, I tell you! It’s… historical. And Anna likes history!"

"Romeo, I think Anna wants her history to be more full of dragons and knights and – exciting historical things."

Tybalt froze mid-step. The voice, that name! Slowly, he turned his head, scanning over crowds milling their way to the market square. Had he misheard? 

"Alas, I am forced to side with Benvolio on this, my friend. Listen to this doggerel:

> I know an absent-minded boy,  
> To meditate is all his joy;  
> He seldom does the thing he ought  
> Because he is so rapt in thought.”

There! He saw them seated on the steps of the old counting house: the Montague brat himself, swaddled in furs like a toddler, Mercutio of Escalus, and two of their cronies.

Including Tybalt, the Capulet group counted five.

"Hey, Mercutio, you think this poet's talking about Romeo?"

"Dear me, no; Romeo is far too busy putting his thing where it ought not go, to spend this much time thinking!"

"Oh, you are so witty. I am crying with laughter here. Now give me back my gift before you crease the pages! Anna is very particular about her books." 

One of the retainers met Tybalt’s gaze and grinned at him, putting a hand on his blade. “Mon-ta-gues,” he whispered in a sing-song voice. “Shall we not have a little… holiday fun, sire?”

Tybalt didn’t consider long. The book of poetry sounded dreadful – but the tale of stealing it out of Romeo Montague’s hand? That made for a much more exciting gift than any vase Tybalt picked from a market stand. Not to mention he had the feeling his aunt had all the vases she wanted by now.

He nodded and turned to one of the other men. "Circle around. Wait until you hear a commotion. And that book of poetry? I want it."

"Hard to avoid damaging it though, if they don't all turn tails and run like the dogs they are."

"Oh, that won’t matter." Loosening his blade, Tybalt felt a rare elation for the holidays come upon him. "I was hoping to decorate it with some Montague blood."

**Author's Note:**

> The poetry is quoted from this page of [Victorian children's poetry](http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/rands/16.html)


End file.
